


Stay Out Of My Room

by siriusblue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chubby Mycroft Holmes, M/M, Punk Lestrade, Sherlock is a Brat, Snogging, Teen Mycroft Holmes/Teen Greg Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: Sherlock expects things to be different when his family moves to a new village but he doesn't expect to find someone snogging his brother. Who on earth would want to kiss Chubroft?





	Stay Out Of My Room

STAY OUT OF MY ROOM

 

When the Holmes family move to a new village, eleven year old Sherlock expects things to be different. He doesn't expect to find his big brother snogging someone, for a start. Who on earth would find Chubcroft attractive enough to kiss?

 

A/N Inspired by some beautiful Mystrade fan art on Tumblr by geniusbee (I have absolutely no html skills at all to provide a link, trust me  it's beautiful )  and dedicated to Egmon73 and Bookjunkiecat who wanted it. Thanks guys, another superior distraction. Hope you're all feeling better by the time you read this.

 

Greg Lestrade came home, dumped his bag full of washing in the kitchen and hugged his mum.

 

“Hello, love. How's it all going? “ asked Mrs Lestrade.

 

“It's really fascinating, Mum.” replied Greg enthusiastically.

 

“Good. Are you working hard? Staying out of trouble?”

 

“Well…” said Greg with his irrepressible grin and dodged out of range as his mother tried to swat him with a teatowel. “I'm kidding, honest!”

 

Mrs Lestrade didn't look convinced and sighed. There was no real malice in her Greg but trouble always managed to find him. It didn't help, in her opinion, that her son dressed like Sid Vicious and spiked his dark hair so that he looked like a hedgehog. 

 

“Someone's moved into the Old Mill,” she said as she poured tea for them both.

 

“Really? I didn't think that place would ever sell. What are they like then, the new people?” asked Greg.

 

“They keep themselves to themselves,” sniffed his mother and Greg hid a smile. Not being neighbourly in a little village like theirs was a cardinal sin in his mother's eyes. “I suppose they're settling in before they start getting involved. Now, what do you want for your tea?”

 

Greg was watching TV when his mum came into the living room and handed him a fiver.

 

“We're out of Bisto. If you hurry, you'll catch the shop. Unless you don't want gravy with your tea?”

 

“Sod that,” muttered Greg, pulling on his leather jacket and leaving the house.

 

He was just leaving the village shop, head turned to ensure he would pass on Mrs Smith's best wishes to his family, when he collided heavily with someone who let out a startled cry at the impact.

 

“Shit, oh shit I'm sorry,” said Greg, appalled. “Wasn't watching where I was going.” and then he stopped talking and stared. The recipient of his carelessness was a tall ,chubby redheaded young man with startled blue eyes.

 

“It's all right, “ said the young man, his gaze not quite meeting Greg's. “No harm done.”

 

“I'm Greg Lestrade. Are you new here, because I don't recognise you?”

 

“Mycroft Holmes. And yes, my family moved here a few weeks ago. “

 

So this was one of the mysterious occupants of the Old Mill. Greg was intrigued and offered his hand and Mycroft shook it.

 

“So what do you think so far?” 

 

“I'm not sure. I just finished school and I'm waiting to go to uni. It's quiet. The people seem very friendly.” Mycroft seemed a bit uncertain about that.

 

“We're a friendly bunch all right,” agreed Greg. “Bit of a culture shock when you go to the city, everyone's in a mad rush all the time, and no one talks to anyone. It can be the loneliest place in the world.”

 

Mycroft nodded his agreement, blushing furiously as he said

 

“You're nice, though. I bet people can talk to you.”

 

Greg preened a bit at that. He'd never thought of himself as the approachable type, happy instead to cultivate his punk persona but this Mycroft had seen right through him. 

 

“Yeah. I'll see you around, then. Got to get this back to my mum.” He held up the Bisto packet like it was a shield.

 

That earned him a shy smile from Mycroft.

 

“See you, Greg, “ he said and went into the shop.

  
  
  


The next few days were busy ones for Greg, catching up on family stuff, visiting his sister and watching football on the telly in the pub with his dad but Mycroft was never very far from his mind. 

 

Greg didn't really have a type; girls, boys, even a journey on a bumpy bus could get his motor running, but he wasn't too keen on skinny people of either sex, in his experience it was like shagging an ironing board. He preferred curves and Mycroft was just lovely in that respect. Combine that with red hair and creamy skin and he was the perfect summer diversion. Assuming, that was, Mycroft liked him as well.

 

As luck would have it, Greg spotted Mycroft sitting on a bench beside the village duck pond immersed in a book the next day.

 

“Hello again” said Greg with a grin. Mycroft looked up from his book and smiled, carefully placing a bookmark between the pages and closing it.

 

“Hello, Greg. I was hoping to see you again.”

 

“Well, here I am. What are you reading?”

 

Mycroft offered him the slim volume to peruse, which he did and returned it to Mycroft with a wry smile.

 

“Machiavelli? In the original Italian? You're reading this for fun?”

 

“Not exactly fun, but I think it might give me an edge when I start reading Politics as a discipline. The language isn't that difficult, took me an hour or two to master it.”

 

Greg realised he was in the presence of a bone fide genius.

 

“Right. So what  do you read for fun? Crime stories, fantasy, sci-fi?”

 

Mycroft smiled at him.

 

“I have a penchant for Victorian Gothic, actually.”

 

“I do like Poe,” admitted Greg.

 

“Then we have something in common,” said Mycroft warmly. “Though he's only the tip of the iceberg. I've got lots of books at home that would interest you if you..” he stopped and looked away from Greg.

 

“I'm sorry. My mother always tells me not to presume too much, so I won't presume that the most handsome man in the village would be interested in spending time with me.”

 

Greg frowned at that, wondering how many times Mycroft had been put down by his mother for him to react that way but was deeply flattered by Mycroft's description of him. He took Mycroft's hand and squeezed it gently.

 

“You're wrong. I can't think of anything else I'd rather do than spend time with you. And I'd love to see your book collection, if you still want to show me, that is “ said Greg and was rewarded by a delighted smile which completely lit up Mycroft's face.

 

“I'd like that very much,” he said, standing up. Greg followed suit and they made their way slowly to the Old Mill, chatting aimlessly  about books and films and Greg was delighted to discover they had a lot more things in common than anyone might suspect.

 

When they reached the Old Mill Mycroft led Greg round to the back door which was a total contrast to the pristine manicured front. Pairs of wellingtons were scattered haphazardly next to a massive log pile and the back garden was largely untamed.

 

“Come in but watch out for the…”

 

“Woof!”

 

Mycroft's sentence went unfinished as a beautiful red setter launched itself at Greg, tail waving frantically.

 

“Hello gorgeous!” exclaimed Greg, kneeling down to pat the dog, getting thoroughly licked for his pains. “Who's a lovely boy?”

 

“His name's Redbeard. He's my little brother's.” explained Mycroft as Redbeard rolled over so Greg could scratch his belly, writhing ecstatically under his touch.

 

“He'd let you do that all day,” smiled Mycroft. “He's a big softy.”

 

“He's lovely,” agreed Greg, getting to his feet, following Mycroft into the kitchen.

 

“Mikey, is that you?” asked a female voice from somewhere in the house.

 

“Yes, Mummy,” replied Mycroft as a blonde-haired woman came into the kitchen, her hands full of summer flowers. She was quite petite and her kind eyes were the same colour as Mycroft's.

 

“I was wondering where you'd got to. Hello,” she said, noticing Greg. “Who are you?”

 

“Greg Lestrade, Mrs Holmes.”

 

She smiled and put the cut flowers on the kitchen table.

 

“Very nice to meet you, Greg. I'm pleased Mikey has found a friend.”

 

Greg could literally feel Mycroft cringing beside him and braced himself for a parental interrogation but was surprised when it didn't come and she offered him tea instead.

 

Greg was polite enough to drink.it and to hoover up the biscuits offered while answering some innocuous questions about the village.

 

“It's taken us some time to settle in,” admitted Mrs Holmes. “The house needed a great deal of work.”

 

“Well, if you need someone to give you the proper low down, my mum's usually at home after school. She's a teacher.” Greg added.

 

“That would be most helpful,” said Mrs Holmes. “ I'll leave you two to chat.”

 

“She seems nice,” remarked Greg and grinned at the expression on Mycroft's  face. “Mikey,” he concluded teasingly.

 

“Don't call me that” implored Mycroft. “It's bad enough being called Mycroft!”

 

“I'm sorry “ laughed Greg, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth at Mycroft's flustered appearance. “Mycroft it is. Here, have a biscuit.” said Greg, pushing the plate towards him.

 

Mycroft shook his head decisively.

 

“No, thank you. I've had enough. Come with me, I'll show you those books.”

 

Greg was more than willing and followed Mycroft out of the kitchen up a flight of very creaky stairs to a solid wooden door.

 

“In here, “ said Mycroft, opening the door to what was, plainly, a bedroom. It was incredibly neat for a teenage boy, thought Greg, no dirty laundry or unwashed plates lying around ,unlike his own where he genuinely couldn't remember the colour of the carpet. One wall was covered in bookshelves past head height while an actual four poster bed stood in the middle of the room.

 

“Nice,” said Greg admiringly. 

 

Mycroft looked pleased and waved a plump hand at the books.

 

“Help yourself, “ he invited. Greg didn't need to be asked twice and walked over to the shelves, running his fingers over each volume. He selected a good half dozen and placed them on the desk where Mycroft was sitting,taking pleasure in Greg's obvious enthusiasm.

 

“If it's too many, I can put some back,” 

 

“Don't be silly, Greg. Take as many as you want. It just means you'll have to come back to return them.” said Mycroft as he stood up from his chair.

 

Greg smiled as he said,”That wouldn't be the only reason for coming back here,” and he moved closer to Mycroft, who blushed. 

 

“Why me?” asked Mycroft. “You could have anyone in the world and you're here with a great lump like me.”

 

“Don't say that!” exclaimed Greg, instinctively reaching out and drawing Mycroft to him. To his relief, Mycroft didn't pull away. “I'm here because I want to be and because I like you. And don't put yourself down like that, I think you're gorgeous. All I want to do now is kiss you. Can I?”

 

“Yes,” breathed Mycroft.

 

It was a sweet,tentative finding of each others lips and Greg held Mycroft tight, breaking the kiss to lick a stray granule of sugar from the corner of Mycroft's mouth. Mycroft groaned softly and kissed Greg again and there was nothing tentative about it this time.

 

Somehow they ended up tumbled together on Mycroft's bed, kissing horizontally proving to be even better than kissing vertically. Greg's fingers tangled in Mycroft's hair, a part of him wondering how something so full of rich fiery colour could feel so soft. Mycroft was luscious and warm under him, a proper armful and Greg wanted to see more, tugging at the buttons of Mycroft's shirt to reveal creamy, freckled skin stained rosy pink with his arousal.

 

“Bleargh! That's disgusting!”

 

A high-pitched voice from out of nowhere nearly propelled Greg into orbit as Mycroft moved away from him and glared at the intruder, dousing their desire for each other as effectively as if they'd both plunged into a river of ice.

 

“Sherlock! “ he scolded. “How many times have I told you to stay out of my room?”

 

Greg surveyed the speaker as he clutched a pillow to his lap, blushing furiously. A boy of about eleven with dark curly hair and Mycroft's eyes was glaring at them.

 

“Who are you?” asked Sherlock, pointedly ignoring his big brother. “And why are you kissing Chubcroft? Did you lose a bet? It's the only logical explanation.”

 

“My name is Greg,” he replied.

 

“Wait till I tell Mummy you've got a  boyfriend,” continued Sherlock with glee, now ignoring Greg.

 

“She's already met Greg, Sherlock.” said Mycroft tiredly. “Now sod off and leave us alone. And stay out of my room.”

 

Sherlock didn't budge, just stood there glaring at Greg.

 

“Don't hurt him. Don't be like the other one and make him cry.” he said grudgingly and Greg reckoned that was the only recognition he would get.

 

“Sherlock..” growled Mycroft warningly.

 

“I'm going, Blimpcroft. “ said Sherlock loftily and walked out with.his nose in the air.

 

The two older boys looked at each other and burst out laughing.

 

“I'm sorry for my.little brother,” said Mycroft when he had stopped giggling. “He's got no boundaries at all.”

 

“It's okay,” smiled Greg.”I was horrible to my sister's boyfriends too. Little brothers are just something we need to work round.”

 

“I'm surprised you haven't run away screaming,” teased Mycroft.

 

“No chance. What did he mean about the other one?”

 

“Someone who broke my heart, that's all. However if this afternoon is any judge, I'm well on the road to recovery.”

 

“I want to know everything, “ cautioned Greg. “ How about a drink tomorrow  night?”

 

“I'd like that very much,” agreed Mycroft. “With any luck it will take all summer for me to tell you it all.”

 

“I can live with that,” said Greg with a smile and hugged him.

 

  1. The End.




End file.
